The Underground Overground

The Paris Metro system is clean, reliable and cheap, but for all that also rather dull. Being contained underground in almost its entirety and with stations looking very much alike, it cannot be said to have the vetust charm of the London Tube or the grandeur of the Moscow Metropoliten. However, there are sections worthy of investigation, with the most fascinating of all being the stretch of the Line 2 along the viaduct between the stations of Colonel Fabien and Anvers. From a seat in the Metro, in the stations themselves, along the route taken and under the viaduct, there is much of interest in this little visited arc of the city. We'll begin the ride at Colonel Fabien and head west.

Colonel Fabien
Colonel Fabien, whose real name was Pierre Georges, was a militant communist and resistant. He had earned his rank during a stint with the International Brigade during the Spanish Civil War and was given the task of setting up a resisting military unit in Paris to combat the occupying forces. It was Georges himself who started this armed resistance by shooting a German officer dead at the Barbès-Rochechouart station. He was later captured by the French Police and handed over to the Germans, but managed to escape and played an active part of the liberation of Paris in 1944. Unfortunately, he did not survive to see the end of all hostilities as he was killed later that year whilst examining a land mine.

Given these connections, it is not surprising to find the headquarters of the French Communist party on this Place of the same name, comfortably housed in a building designed by the Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer. It also seems rather apt that both the Metro station and Place (pre-1945) were previously named Combat, a name actually derived from the fact that it was an area where people organised animal fights between 1778 and 1850.

As the Metro leaves this station, it slowly rises out towards the rooftops of the mostly modern buildings outside. The Metro is reflected in the glass windows of one such building, and you quickly get a glimpse of the Canal St Martin before you enter the Jaurès Metro station. As the iron posts of the viaduct get longer and higher, space is created underneath for sports, with New York style basketball courts, skate parks and football pitches running the length of the line between the two stations.

Jaurès
Named after a recently assassinated President, this is another station that changed name due to a war. Jean Jaurès was shot in the Croissant restaurant on the 31st of July 1914, and war with the Germans was declared on the 3rd of August, just three days later. It was a logical step therefore when on the 1st of August the name of this station was switched from the soon to be undesirable Rue d'Allemagne.

The Jaurès Metro station is also possibly the most attractive in the city thanks to the elegant glass canopy protecting the platforms, but most of all because of the stained glass windows of the artist Jacques-Antoine Ducatez. Installed to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution in 1989, these windows represent the taking of the Bastille prison, and show the red, white and blue flags of the people marching towards the white castle.

Leaving the Jaurès station, the Metro now sweeps around a corner, giving majestic views along the Canal St Martin to the left, and its continuation, the Bassin de la Villette to the right. The Metro almost touches the roof of the Rotonde de la Villette, a building which was originally part of the walls of the tax-collecting Fermiers Généreux, reminding us that this Metro line actually stands in the footprint of these old city walls. This building predates the canal it looks out upon, and was one of the few barriers that was allowed still to stand after the French Revolution in 1789, then again during the Haussmannian reconstruction of the city in 1860. Today it sits empty, but is due to reopen in the near future as an arts centre and restaurant.

As the Metro sweeps around towards the Stalingrad station, you should get a perfect view up towards the Sacre Coeur.

Stalingrad
The third Metro station on this stretch and the third to change name in wartime. Stalingrad was originally known as Aubervilliers on this line, but was renamed in 1946 in honour of the Russian victory at the battle of the same name.

On the right-hand side of this station almost the entire quarter is being renovated. To explore this regeneration more closely, leave the line at this station and walk along the Rue d'Aubervilliers up to the newly opened 104 Arts Centre. Not only will you see the interesting building that previously housed the municipal undertakers, but you'll also pass by a new park (the Jardins d'Eole) and get an interesting perspective on urbanism in a previously troubled and disadvantaged district.

Between Stalingrad and the next station, La Chapelle, the Metro line flies over the first set of railway lines, this time those between the Gare de l'Est and destinations in the east of the country and Germany.

La Chapelle
Opened in 1903, this station has always kept the same name. La Chapelle was previously a village between Belleville and Montmartre, and the name of this station is a reminder of a time when rural scenes could be seen on the other side of the Paris city walls. Today this station gives access to the Gare du Nord and the Eurostar, as well as the RER out to Charles de Gaulle airpot, but be prepared to walk a long way!

On the left-hand side of this station, back towards the city centre, many of the streets are now home to a large community from the Indian Subcontinent. This area provides a colourful and aromatic walk, with many excellent and very reasonable shops and restaurants. Indeed, if you ever want an Indian meal in Paris, come here and don't bother trying anywhere else!

As soon as the Metro leaves this station, it becomes a viaduct on top of a bridge over Europe's busiest railway station, the Gare du Nord. From the Metro you can see the long, snaking Eurostar and Thalys international trains, before the station disappears behind the walls of the Lariboisière Hospital. Opened in 1854, this hospital was originally built after a serious epidemic of cholera and was intended to become a model facility. It's chapel and attractive interior courtyard helped it to become recognised as historic monument in 1975.

Above the train lines of the Gare du Nord and underneath the viaduct is a concrete and weedy scrubland. The bridge constantly shakes as trains rumble underneath, whilst bumpter to bumper car traffic on either side sends out a stream of poisonous vapours. Wind whistles around the iron posts of the viaduct and every two minutes Metro trains screech past on the track above. Staying here for a short length of time would be enough to turn anybody mad, but on the ground in front of me is a wooden pallet and a blanket.

Further along towards Barbès, on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, the viaduct provides shelter to the market stall holders of the Marché de Barbès, reputed to be the cheapest in the city. On these two days, the normally quiet stretch becomes a riot of colour and noise, and it becomes difficult to make your way along the narrow passageway between the two rows of stalls. At the end of this market, around the entrance into the Barbès-Rochechouart Metro station, groups of young men spend their days attempting to offload cheap, but possibly dangerous illegally imported cigarettes.

Barbès-Rochechouart
Barbès-Rochechouart is possibly the most active and lively Metro station in Paris. It is situated next to the Goutte d'Or, a district made famous by the work of Zola but better known today as being home to large communities of North and Sub-saharan Africans. The rather pretty name of the area (the drop of gold) clashes somewhat with the disheveled reality today, but it actually came from the colour of the wine that was produced here in the past. Around 30% of the population of this district are immigrants to France, making it one of the most cosmopolitan areas of the city, but also one of the most lively, with year-long festivals and events celebrating this diversity. The fact that it sits at the foot of Montmartre has also attracted the famous Bobos who can no longer afford the prices of flats on the hill itself.

As the Metro leaves the station, two buildings dominate. On the right-hand side, the well-known Tati store, screaming out its offer of the 'plus bas prix' (lowest prices) in garish neon if you pass by at night, or just endless rows of 1 Euro junk during daytime. On the left-hand side, one of the oldest cinema buildings still standing in Paris, the extravagantly decorated Louxor. Opened in 1921 and built in an Egyptian style that was very popular at the time, it had a long and successful spell in the city until it was transformed into a nightclub in the 1980s and finally closed in 1987. It was saved perhaps for reasons of historical interest, but also because it is situated in a spot that would be difficult to develop in an unpopular part of the city. It was recently bought by the city of Paris and is currently being transformed back into a cinema complex again.

The Metro now dives back underground, arriving at Anvers, the station which gives access to Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur. Streams of tourists board the train here, taking the Line 2 back to safer central and western parts of the city, but do they know what they are missing on the other side?

A Tale of Two Tragedies (Part 2)

In the summer of 1903, workmen were busy applying finishing touches to the Notre Dame de la Consolation church, the permenant memorial to the victims of the Bazar de la Charité fire. Situated on the Rue Jean Goujon, a prestigious address between the Seine and the Champs Elysées, the classical and baroque elements would soon fit suitably into the elegant surroundings and provide an admirable commemoration of the tragedy. As the men were putting statues into place, polishing the marble and chiseling out biblical texts, little did they expect that the cruel hand of fate was about to strike again in the city.

It was Monday the 10th of August. Across the city in the working-class areas to the north, wooden Metro trains were thundering along a recently opened branch linking Barbès and Nation. The Metro system had only opened three years earlier, and this stretch of line had been freshly inaugerated at the beginning of the year. The initial curiosity value of this underground railway system had worn off, and the typical user, particularly in this part of the city, was the clerk or workman. It was now a system of transport like any other, but the speed it swept through the congested city made it a popular, constantly crowded one.

Throughout the day, drivers of one particular engine had noticed recurring problems. The motor was seemingly overheating, sending out sporadic sparks, flames and smoke. At the terminus at either end, repairs were made and the engine was sent on its way again. In the early evening, at Barbes station, the problems suddenly became worse and a small fire broke out. The electric current was cut, and the fire was quickly put out, but a decision was made to take the engine out of service and the passengers were asked to leave the train. The empty train continued on its way, but was forced to stop at another station as fire had broken out again. It was eventually decided that another train following behind should be taken out of service too and should be used to push the damaged train back to the Nation terminus. The passengers of the two trains were now thickly massed on the platforms, becoming increasingly concerned and annoyed about when they would finish their journey.

The two trains continued towards the terminus, but the problem had not been solved and small fires continued to break out. The drivers simply jumped down at each station, asked for an extinguisher then continued on towards Nation. When they arrived at Menilmontant though that the inevitable happened, and the fire really took hold. Being made of wood, the carriages were quick to burn, and the station was rapidly filled with smoke. Seven victims of the accident would later be found here.

The real centre of this tragedy though was one station further back, at Couronnes. It seems that the possible dangers were not taken seriously and traffic was allowed to continue. A train following along behind the two others had picked up the unhappy travellers and had now arrived at Couronnes station. It is estimated that 300 people were in these four carriages, and when they were asked to leave another train many became angry. Some refused to leave whilst others complained loudly and demanded a refund on their ticket. They seemed little aware of the fire raging along the track until the lights went out and smoke began billowing in from the tunnel.

Couronnes station today. The victims were found on the opposite platform.

It wasn’t until 4 o’clock the following morning that the full picture of horror was unveiled. The firemen and Metro workers imagined only material damage and a handful of victims at Menilmontant, but they had seemingly overlooked the train behind which had been forced to stop at Couronnes. Newspapers(1) reported later that the horrific find was all the more surprising because nobody enquired about missing friends or relatives despite the hordes of curious onlookers outside the stations. It was to be a full eight hours after the event that rescuers were finally able to enter the Couronnes station, and they were shocked to find 75 victims, desperate people who had tried to flee the smoke in the dark and ended up in a heap at the wrong end of the station.

Whilst the Bazar de la Charité catastrophe nearly put paid the nascent cinema industry, the Couronnes incident forced the city of Paris to question its new underground railway system. The system survived but major changes were made throughout the structure, notably ensuring that lights would not cut out in an emergency and that more than one exit should be available (there is still just a single exit at Couronnes).

There is no chapel or monument to the victims of this tragedy, just a brown and orange sign put up by the city in the 1980s. The victims were largely faceless and anonymous, with an estimated 95% being of working class origin. There were no tales of heroism among the victims reported, and only the bravery of the firemen was highlighted, men who had repeatedly risked asphyxiation throughout the night on hopeless searches for survivors.

The 1980s 'Histoire de Paris' sign outside the station.

The Bazar de la Charité incident had shocked and appalled the public, so much so that the generous public donations that followed enabled the construction of the Notre Dame de la Consolation church. It would be unfair to say that the inhabitants of Paris did not react to the Couronnes disaster, but perhaps this time the needs of the families of the victims were different. When money was collected following this catastrophe, no memorial was built, but the hard up families all received a generous sum, whilst the city of Paris looked after funeral expenses.

It is said(2) that the author and poet Louis Aragon was obsessed by the subject of accidents and by these two events in general. He was born the year of the Bazar de la Charité fire and was only 6 when the Couronnes accident occurred, events that must have left a deep scar at a delicate time. There were many links between the two events, with both notably involving fire and new technology. What differed however was the victims’ backgrounds, a factor that established how the public at large reacted to the event. The most important link between the two events though, and what surely affected Aragon the most was the arbitrary nature of accidents and the fact that they can strike anybody at anytime.

Notes:
1. The Gaulois front page and some of the description of events was taken from a PDF produced by a family investigating their family tree. It seems that a relative of theirs was one of the unfortunate victims of the accident.

2. Marie-Christine MOURIER, "Aragon et l'accident, entre obsession et création".

The Colour of Memory

Winter hangs over the city, and the lights have been switched off. In the natural world, a full year takes us through an entire palette of spring greens, summer yellows, autumn reds and winter whites, but Paris is anything but a natural environment. In our manufactured city terrains, devoid of life's primitive pointers, we seem to have settled on an ever-decreasing range of tones and hues. When did we decide to remove colour from our lives and who made the decision?

In the monochrome city streets, we scuttle about, pulling our grey coat collars up to protect ourselves from the chill and trying to avoid placing our black shoes into puddles. Traffic rumbles down the street in front of us, a procession of identikit cars in a narrow range of metallic blues, greys and silvers. When did they stop making them in yellows, oranges or greens? Take the steps down, underground to the bright lights of the Paris Metro though and we discover a land where colours still exist and resist.

Visiting the different stations in the system is like taking a voyage back in time through the history of 20th century design. Helpfully, the RATP celebrated its centenary in the year 2000 by pointing out the architectural heritage of its equipment, with signs explaining the history and origins of a very wide range of objects from logos to plastic seats. Metro stations are usually places where we try to spend as little time as possible, but the RATP have shown us that we are actually travelling through a living museum.

On stations along the Line 12 for example, attention is drawn to some early decorative touches along the passageways. This line was originally operated by the Nord/Sud company, one of the two original underground transport operators in the city, and they seemingly paid more attention to design than their competitor, the CMP. At Madeleine you can observe an attractive wave frieze which runs along the corridors and around the advertising poster frames in a very pretty, delicate jade green. At the top of many of the frames, the original N/S logo can still be seen.

Move forward in time to the Line 9. A child of the 1920s, many of the stations along this line nevertheless sport the bold oranges and primary reds of the 1970s. The Havre-Caumartin station displays the classic designs of Jean-Andre Motte, which represented a desire to incorporate modern materials into the system. The individual, extremely functional plastic seat is the most famous remnant of this era, and it can still be found in a range of colours across the city. The sunshine orange and yellow tiling though is in greater danger of extinction.

Finally, to the end of the century, and the Line 14. 10 years old this year, but already looking curiously dated, like a 1950s vision of what the year 2000 would look like. It is a dimly lit world devoid of any noticeable features. The tiles have become heavy, grey granite slabs, barriers are in transparent plexiglas and the seating just simple wooden slats on thin strips of metal.

The RATP is fully aware of its design heritage, but who chooses what survives and what is discarded? The Metro system is currently undergoing massive refurbishment, with the intention of renovating every station over a 5-10 year period, but the goal of this operation is seemingly to introduce a white, hospital sterility to the tunnels and platforms. Will there always be a place for the 1970s oranges, or will they follow lime-green Ford Cortinas to the design scrapheap?